


Consequences

by Darkhorse



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, M/M, Major Character Injury, Miscarriage, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:42:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkhorse/pseuds/Darkhorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for a prompt on the kinkmeme to break the happy family string</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

A few years ago, Javert had hated the thought of being paired, much less creating a child out of the bond. But now, as he peered through the gate, watching Jean do some minor weeding, he found himself reconsidering. His omega glowed, with something more than health. It was a wonderful sight. He watched for a moment longer, then flicked the catch on the gate and pushed it open.   
Jean, who had been kneeling by one of the flower-beds rocked back onto his heels and climbed slowly to his feet. It was only then that the sharp eyed would have noticed the firm roundness of his stomach, slightly different to what would appear on even the most portly of gentlemen.  
“You're home early”  
Javert held him at arms length for a moment, looking him over critically, then giving the flower-beds a pointed glance “Should you be doing that?”  
“It's only a little weeding, if anything didn't want to move I left it in.” Jean looked thoroughly unrepentant even when Javert tutted  
“We agreed you would help with light Household duties, Jean, the garden is not the household.”  
Jean shrugged lightly “Everything was done indoors, and the garden needed doing.”  
Was this man truly an Omega? Javert wondered, if it wasn't for the heats he wouldn't have guessed it, there was too much self assurance in Jean's manner for him to fit the classic image. But Valjean had never done things the way everyone else did them, that much was assured.  
He slipped an arm around Jean's waist, guiding him carefully back into the house, staggering under the well-meant thump he received in return. Jean might be made of rock, but their child was not.

Javert slept soundly in the bed next to him. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Jean slipped out from under the blankets and dressed in street clothes, the clothes of an average worker, and his yellow coat. All was prepared, he'd filled the pockets with money while Javert was at work, and like all the other times, he'd be home before his Alpha, who could sleep like a log when he wanted, woke up in the morning. It was not strictly allowed by medical advice, but no-one had nay-sayed it either. Besides, the people of Saint Michael knew him, knew he would only help them, and therefore, that no-one would harm him. 

The bed was empty beside him when he rolled over. His immediate thought was that Jean was suffering another bout of the illness that had come with the pregnancy, and he waited for him to return . It was then that he noticed that the house was silent. Normally he could hear if Jean had slipped away to be ill, but there was nothing his ears could pick up. He sat up, realising that the sheet was cold, Jean had been gone for a while. His heart rate started to pick up, he who was normally so calm under pressure. He swung his legs out from under the blankets, dragging his trousers, left nearby, onto his legs. It was then that he spotted the nightshirt  
There was a loud thumping on the door. He ran out to the front door, flinging it open with barely a pause. If it was a robber, well, they would have smashed down the door without a second thought, rather than knock.

His eyes rested on Duval, one of his junior officers, standing on the step. He was uncomprehending for a moment, then his eyes slipped sideways and he saw Jean, slumped against Duval's shoulder, blood running down his forehead and face.  
“Bring him inside”  
He found himself shaking as he stepped back, allowing them in. Jean hobbled, barley able to walk, it seemed. Only as he lit the candles in the bedroom, all as he could find, he realised the extent of the damage. Jeans entire face was covered in bruises, some looking like he'd connected with cobbles. His coat was gone, his shirt torn in several places. He stepped away, leaving Jean resting against the wall, and nodded thankfully to the porteress as she brought hot water and then shut the door, shooing Duval out with her. He picked up the cloth on the edge of the bowl, soaking it, and began, as gently as he could when his hands were shaking, to wash the cut on his mate's head. It clearly came from an intentioned blow, his policeman’s mind noted, but it didn't seem to be too deep, just bleeding significantly as head wounds were want to do. If this was the worst of it, they could manage.  
Jean began to shake and he stopped his bathing, realising that some form of shock was wearing off. His tongue was not so restrained.  
“What were you doing out there?”  
“Alms... people are still poor.”  
He felt like he was going to explode with rage even as he pulled Jean's shirt off gently “At night, in a slum? Did you even think of the dangers?”  
Pained eyes looked at him “The people know me, none would ever harm me. It was one of the older gamins who ran for Duval”  
“Someone hurt you.” The threat to his family was striking a war bell with his biology, he wanted to wring the neck of whoever had done this, damn the law, damn rightful justice for once. He turned away, aware he could be scaring Jean with his expressions, so close to animal were they coming. Besides, the bloody cloth needed washing out if it was to do any more good.

A deep groan of pain made him turn back sharply, the cloth abandoned on the cabinet.

Jean had hunched over where he stood, one harm pressing over his stomach, his face a grimace of severe pain. Javert moved close to him, eyes looking for some injury his first search had missed .  
“Jean, what's wrong?”  
Jean seemed to come back to himself then, a deep fear filling his eyes. Javert steadied him as he stood, suddenly shivering. Slowly he slid one hand down the other man's side feeling for a break, a crack, for something wrong. Jean tensed, his face screwing up into agony again as he gasped for air.  
This was not right.  
“Did you hurt your ribs?” Even as he asked he knew he was clutching salks, every other stalk but that one.  
“No, not ribs...help.. oh god, help.”   
Jean slumped against him, all that self-assurance gone now, only pain and fear, that terrible fear, left. As the other man's knees buckled Javert went with him, holding him as best he could, containing his own terror as he tried to calm his mate.  
“Duval, get a doctor.”  
“A doctor Sir?” Came the query from the other side of the door, sounding dully confused  
A Doctor!” He was in no mood to be patient now “Quickly.”  
His ears heard the fleeing footsteps, but his eyes were on Jean, saw the sweat standing out on his forehead as he flinched from the pain, the grey pallor on his face, and sickeningly, the blood starting to darken his breeches.

Later he realised he ought to have thanked Duval, for the doctor arrived quickly. But it was hard to think of such things when his partner was bleeding, in pain, and he'd just been ejected unceremoniously from the bedroom. It appeared that bonded pairs counted for little where doctors and patients were concerned. All he could do was wait.

The grim face the doctor presented when he left the room told him without a word, and he nodded understanding. That was all it could be, there was no acceptance, could never be, unless a broken heart could heal. He shoved past the man into the bedroom, heedless of the medical babble which flowed in his wake.

Jean lay on the bed, his back to the door and face buried in a pillow, the only part of the covering not smeared with blood. Javert waited, out of habit for an acknowledgement, even the slightest stirring, but his partner didn't move. He crossed the room, reaching out to place a hand on Jean's shoulder. Both of them had created the child, but it was the Omega, who had carried it inside him for around three months, who would feel the loss hardest. And what comfort could he give?  
Jean didn't react for a long time, but then a soft voice wove its way out between sobs “I'm sorry, I'm sorry... If I hadn't gone out, if I'd just done as I was told for once, we would still have our son. It's my fault, all my fault.”  
It would have been a son. Javert felt the knowledge settle like a rock in his chest, even as he rubbed his partner's arm soothingly. Some logical part told him that it was indeed Jean's fault, but he wasn't willing to listen, snarling it down as fiercely as he would snarl at the men who had attacked his mate. Enough harm had been done tonight, he had no reason to add to it. He climbed onto the bed and pulled Jean to him, chest to back. The other man sobbed harder, and Javert realised so strong was the habit he'd developed that he'd unintentionally wrapped his arms over Jean's stomach, over where their child had lain. Without commenting, he let his grip slide up, one arm around the ribs, the upper moving to rest on his mate's shoulder again. It was all he could do.


End file.
